From Spare to Prince to King: Becoming King Clarkson
by myhappyplaceisabook
Summary: The story of King Clarkson from his youth to finding the love of his life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

THEY CALLED ME 'SPARE' FROM THE moment I was prematurely yanked from the safety and comfort of my mother's womb, so early that I required steroids and breathing treatments until I turned three years of age. Perhaps they thought it was endearing, referring to me as 'Spare,' but, in fact it was condescending, especially when used by my older brother, Carlton, who relentlessly called me that until the day he died; the day I became King.

There are always at least two stories of anyone's life. The one they tell and the one that is true. This is my true story, not the one that will be told of me once I am dead. I will be remembered as a steadfast, monarch who loved and cared for his people, kept them safe and brought them out of despair. This true story is the one that is too brilliant, so heartless and enormously romantic to be told because it was all worthless to the kingdom.

My parents were King Porter and Queen Abby Schreave rulers of the young country of Illéa. Their love story was built upon duty - that was what the public was told.

My father was a tall, strong man with shiny black hair. His square jaw was covered by finely manicured facial hair. He looked regal, even though he was not born or raised to rule. He was always busy and seldom spent any time alone with me. He never tucked me in bed, played ball with me or reviewed my school work.

King Porter took to ruling as a duck to water. He was decisive and absolute when it came to his three loves. First, he loved his sovereign reign. At the age of twenty-three he was crowned King of Illéa after his cousin, His Royal Highness Justin Illéa's sudden and mysterious death. My father quickly developed a fierce and unquestionable love for his power. Soon after his coronation, he established several social laws, financial policies and security protocols to protect and enhance the nation. He spent endless hours directing, planning and ruling the nation as he assiduously built upon the vision set by Gregory Illéa.

Secondly, King Porter loved his son, not me but his elder son, Carlton. It was evident that although his favorite son Prince Carlton was spoiled and sickly, he had the one quality that endeared him to our father: pliability. Prince Carlton blindly followed every order, command and suggestion that fell from the lips of King Porter and as such, King Porter continued his reign while his beloved son was an honorary figure head, puppet king.

King Porter's last love was his wife Queen Abby, formerly Abby Tamblin, three. Their wedding was my father's first marriage and my mother's second. My mother was the second winner of the Selection when she married Justin Illéa, grandson of Gregory Illéa. During Justin's nineteenth year, his bride was chosen from the thirty five provinces of Illéa.

Abby Tamblin was happy with Justin and Justin was no saint. The selection of my mother was a set up. She was cherry-picked from the thousands of applications submitted because she was chaste, submissive with helpful affiliations and had large amounts of money. What was billed by the media as a random opportunity for a daughter of Illéa, became a calculated venture by Justin.

Because my mother was a three with financial resources to contribute to the royal family coffers, Abby was the only choice for Justin. Justin dated and seduced nearly all of the selected before they were sent home, used. Unfortunately for Justin, my mother, the heiress to Good Foods, a company that provided food to over ninety percent of the homes in Illéa, was more attracted to my father. Abby and Porter began a secret affair and devised a plan for them to spend the rest of their lives together.

I'm not sure if my parents originally wanted to run away together or to take over the throne, regardless, after Justin's death, my father proposed to my mother and she humbly accepted with the blessing from the terminally ill, Gregory Illéa.

At the time of their marriage, my mother was pregnant and there was never any doubt that the child born was my father's and created from their secret affair. As their secret love child, Carlton was treated as the highest of all ones. They poured into Carlton all the love and trust that they could no longer find in one another.

If they could easily plan the death of Justin, whom they both loved, then how could they be secure in their own marriage, which was built on conspiracy?

My parents had a passionate and tumultuous relationship with frequent arguments, accusations and demands. Their love was complex in so many ways, but definite. Amazingly, my parents never denied each other comfort or love, and their example was something that I wanted for my own marriage, only I wanted trust.

My father kept his three loves close to him at all times. They were minutely monitored for stability, viability, trustworthiness and direction. His loves bent to his desires and in turn they were guarded by father.

I knew I wasn't one of my father's loves early in my life. I, the spare, Clarkson Schreave, was born five years after my parent's marriage as a source of spare parts for the sickly Prince Carlton. The umbilical cord that nourished me in my mother's womb was needed for Carlton and King Porter demanded that the future King have immediate access to those nutrients.

I guess in his way, my father cared for me and was the only person who treated me as more than a spare. It was by his command that I attended every educational session provided to Carlton. I believed my father allowed these lessons because he cared. Carlton declared that I was only there to be babysat and kept out of the way. Regardless, I was educated as a royal.

My mother cared only for Carlton and tolerated me. She was forced into a second pregnancy that she feared and didn't want. At the time my parents were anxious about Carlton's health. Each accused the other of causing his illness. And because of their shared conspiracy regarding Justin, my father refused to be vulnerable during sex. It was said that my conception was witnessed by four of the palace guard, two for my father and two for my mother.

As I grew, I knew to remain quiet and unimposing. I was to follow in my brother's shadow and never to over-shadow him. Carlton never passed an opportunity to put me in my place. Prince Carlton was a sickly, brilliant boy that everyone favored because of his dimpled smile, carefree attitude and constant illnesses. He was far from innocent and it was his shrewd manipulations that allowed him to receive his every whim, including body parts for his infirmed body.

The Crowned Prince of Illéa was diagnosed with severe liver disease when he was four years old. It was an inherited disease that the King faulted the Queen for passing onto their son. The doctors informed the royal couple that the only cure was a transplant. By the time I was two years old, half my liver and a kidney were removed from my body along with numerous quarts of blood that were given to Carlton. I'm not sure if they ever sought a non-related donor for my brother, but I was certain that they did not expect me to live long once they harvested the needed parts for my brother. To their great annoyance, I survived.

Because I survived my third birthday, the King and Queen determined it was time to name me properly and introduce me to the people of Illéa. At my naming ceremony, an announcement was made to the daughters of Illéa born one year before my birth through the day of my naming of their eligibility to enter the Selection in sixteen years for a chance to become a princess and wife to His Royal Highness Prince Clarkson Schreave, third in line to the throne.

Unlike my brother's naming ceremony, mine did not include directions for the proper raising of the future princess regarding educational training, social and beauty recommendations. At the end of my brother's ceremony, numerous threes started schools, workshops and tutoring classes to properly prepare daughters for the Selection for Prince Carlton. Girls who were fours or above attended private tutor sessions. Parents of eligible daughters who were five or below sacrificed meals for their daughters' to attend the public school future queen lessons.

It seemed the country ignored my existence as easily as my family. There were no tutors or classes to become princess to Clarkson. Perhaps people were confused as to whether Carlton and I were one in the same because we shared so many of the same physical attributes. We both had dark hair, dimples and strong chins. It was like my looks and body was on a five year delay to twin that of Carlton's features, although I never fell ill to the disease that ravaged him throughout his childhood.

My lungs never fully recovered from my premature birth and I was forced to limit physical activities, even though the steroid use made me very active. My brother remained thin and slender all of his short life, however, due to my continued steroid use I was heavier and stronger than Carlton by the time I was ten. My father hated the use of the steroids because they forced me to expend a large amount of energy for short periods of time. It was a nuisance and made him nervous. When I was fifteen, my father made me cease use of the treatment. The result was that I became more stationary and focused.

The first time I realized my brother was not as strong as I was, I was ecstatic. It was my brother's twelfth birthday party that included a royal carnival. The warm Angeles air made it difficult for me to hold a good breath, so I was not allowed to participate in any of the physical games, but my brother could, with the help of servants.

I followed my brother everywhere that day. I watched as he rode on the whirl-a-wheel, angered that I wasn't allowed to participate.

"No one has time to tend to you if you faint," my father reasoned. He forcefully pressed his finger into my cheek, leaned down and declared, "you shall not take away from Carlton's day. You shall sit and remain still."

I followed my father's instructions as well as a seven year old could. I watched from afar as Carlton rode the wooden rollercoaster that was set up on the lawn. Perhaps if it was just Carlton on the rides, I might have stayed put, but the whole affair included children who were twos and threes as well as a few children of palace workers. It was crowded and I figured no one would notice my participation.

As soon as Carlton was finished with the rides, he ventured to the games. I snuck behind him in line for the "dunk a guard" booth. Carlton threw nearly ten balls before someone mercifully tripped the handle and the guard fell into the tank of water.

While everyone was congratulating Carlton on his accuracy and forte, the game was reset and a new guard sat above the water. I quickly grabbed a ball and threw it with as much enthusiasm and strength that my seven year old, oxygen deprived body could muster. The ball whizzed through the air and hit the lever, dropping the palace guard into the tank. I was so amazed that I completed the task on the first try that my glee could not be contained.

"I did it, I did it!" I screamed for all to hear, as I ran over to my brother, excited and thrilled. His was the only opinion that counted for me because no matter how much he teased me, no one else was allowed to treat me badly when he was around. He protected me. He made sure I was safe from strict teachers, cruel nannies and mean maids. He knew I was royalty and all the people that worked at the palace were below us. He was my defender, hero and nemesis all in one.

"What do you mean, Spare?" Carlton asked with irritation because I interrupted the praise he was receiving.

"I did it, I dunked that guard," I smiled, eager for my own praise.

"Good job, but next time you should probably stand on the adult line rather than the baby line," he snickered.

The sound of laughter rang out from my brother's admirers at his cutting remark. More disturbing was the look on my father's face as I remembered his command.

"You're strong enough to throw a ball then you're strong enough to pay the consequences," my father reasoned as the belt landed time and again across my back.

That was the day of my first whipping. That was the day I learned discipline.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

AS I GREW IN SIZE, SO DID my desire to be more than a spare and a shadow to Carlton. Carlton was my only friend and at times my worst enemy. With a word from him, trouble would find its way to my body. I was the one punished for his mistakes. If Carlton erred in spelling, my fingers were wrapped by the tutor. "You must not distract your greater," the tutor admonished.

If Carlton spilled his drink, I was scolded. "You are to sit quietly, while Prince Carlton discusses important matters. Your fidgeting causes too much trouble," my father corrected.

I started hiding in the palace in hopes of finding peace from my parents' riotous relationship and Carlton's authoritarianism and bungling. When I hid, no one searched for me. When I returned there wasn't any acknowledgment of my absence, not even a sigh of relief.

My favorite hiding place was just above the kitchens, a small corner pocket in the wall of the library where the stove's vents ran to the roof. It was warm and cozy with the smell of freshly baked goods wafting up. The small waffled door secluded me from others and allowed me to see into the library. From my pocket in the wall, I had access to the back stairs that led down into the safe room or up to the living quarters.

It was from my cozy hiding place that I saved my family's life.

For as long as I could remember, our family had been threated and abused by disgruntled rebels. Mostly they were nothing more than a nuisance, with some vandalism but never any injuries. This was different.

"I've heard from them. They want us to accidently ruin our uniforms so we can get replacements. We're to take the old ones and place them in the delivery truck," whispered one of the guards. I couldn't see him, but I knew who it was. It was Officer Winford, he'd never showed any disloyalty. He was dark haired and much too young to brazenly plan the assassinations of my family.

"What about the spare?" the other guard whispered back. I wasn't able to place his voice and his face was turned away from me.

"He dies as well. There's no saving the Schreave family, they're all to die," Winford replied. "The throne was Justin's and they all must pay for his murder."

"When?" the unknown soldier questioned.

"It will be the evening before the visit from Swendway. We're to leave as many doors unlocked as possible and dismantle the alarms. Once the royal family is in the dining room we are to give the attack signal, which is an orange ball rolling across the floor. The king and queen will think it's just the spare being playful. By the time they figure it out, it will be too late. They will be dead and the rebels will have control of the government."

"Finally, we can rid ourselves of this ineffective monarchy. For Justin Illéa," he declared.

"For Justin Illéa," Winford agreed.

The two went on to lay out the specific plans for the assassinations and the future ruling government. Some of it was difficult to follow, especially the new system of government, but I remembered every aspect.

In detail, I relayed the treasonous plans to my father. At first, he didn't believe me. He thought it was a joke, some trick to make me important. Then he thought it was a conspiracy by my mother, because she'd already committed one murder of a king, a second wouldn't be that difficult.

Eventually my father canceled the visit from Swendway and because I was unable to identify the other guard, he allowed Winford to continue in his duties under the watchful eyes of one of the king's most trusted guards.

By the time the orange ball bounced across the dining hall floor, the rebels were the only ones surprised by how quickly the attack ended. The false guards and rebels were subdued and taken into custody. We finished our dinner as if nothing dangerous had transpired at all.

When my father stood to leave, he turned to my brother, "Carlton, bring your spare."

My eyes flew to my father, who was already out of the door, the heel of his black shoe the only thing still visible. I glanced at my brother who was nearing the door to make sure I heard correctly. I was never invited or allowed to participate in the after dinner discussions or any talks whatsoever. Carlton never turned or paused to look at me. "Come on Spare," he ordered in his changing voice. He was angry or hurt, I wasn't sure which, but he understood that my status as spare had changed with the foiled attack by the rebels, I thought. I figured my father would value me, reward me and allow me to be a favored son. My mother nodded her head towards my brother, an indication that I should follow.

Without further delay I was on the heels of my brother's footsteps. We walked to the prestigious marble stairs and rather than taking them to the third floor sitting room, my brother turned to his left and led me down the backstairs to the basement level. He hesitated as he took each step along the cement hallway. There were no pictures of ancestors or ancient buildings on the wall, only metal scones that held light bulbs covered with metal lids forcing the light into circles on the gray cold floor. We walked the length of the palace and crossed the threshold of a steal metal door.

The smell hit me before I entered the room, it was the putrid smell of sweat and dried musty blood. I knew I had to go into the room, it wasn't a choice but a command from the king. My brother shuffled into the room and sat immediately on the left of my father. With no other chairs in the room, I was forced to stand beside my brother.

On the walls were large rings that the rebels' hands were fastened inside. All of them showed signs of abuse. A broken nose, lacerations across the torso, a contorted arm next to a broken leg, the injuries were recent. It was the gruesome moans of pain that would keep me awake, because I understood it. Eventually my father conducted his own effective interrogation and the entire rebel compound was destroyed.

At the Friday Report, King Peyton told of the rebel attack and the successful elimination of the insurgents. He told the people of the need for building and farming and that a new cast was needed. Sevens were needed for the important work. Former secretaries, maids, drivers and cooks were forced to work as gardeners, construction workers and farmhands for less pay and more hours. Coincidently, many of the newly downgraded citizens were rebel sympathizers and pledged to revenge the murder of Justin. Through the creation of the seventh caste, my father stopped all lingering thoughts of Justin and became the absolute ruler of Illéa.

My life didn't change much after the failed attack. I remained the spare. I enjoyed the life of a royal with none of the responsibilities. Many believed I would become a jokester, carefree child, but my father never allowed for whimsical behavior.

The warm fall breeze of the Angeles winds blew through the open windows of the classroom, where we studied French and Spanish, languages used in parts of Illéa. French was also the language of the United European Nations of France, a weak and poverty stricken union that no other country thought significant enough to invade and save from its own destruction, a situation that could change if New Germany were to conquer the French.

The United European Nations of France possessed land and workers and could easily be consumed into our nation and grant legitimation. Our father demanded that we conquer the language.

Carlton's goal in life was to have total admiration and devotion. To that end, learning more than introductory French or Spanish would not endure his future subjects to him he figured, at least that's what he told the tutor.

"It's a waste of my time to learn a language, when none of my subjects will benefit from it," Carlton whined.

"Prince Carlton, this is a direct order from King Porter and he will be most perturbed if I did not follow his command," begged the tutor. "I know you have the intelligence and ability to conquer the language as you have your other studies."

I snickered at the comment and quickly put my head down and looked at my book in order to avoid my brother's glare.

"It's useless for me to learn the languages. My spare is adept enough and I will have numerous translators as well. As your future king, I command you to teach me the words to make love to, the words of seduction. Anything more than that is a waste for me," Carlton declared as he flicked his wrist at the tutor and encouraged him to begin the lesson again.

I sat and listened as the tutor repeated elementary French and a few sentences designed to endear Carlton to French speakers. It was painfully boring as I had mastered the language when I was nine and my imbecile, lazy brother could barely request a glass of water in Spanish. It was infuriating that I was more clever, stronger and capable, yet I was unnecessary to the plans of the country, unless something happened to the handsome and charming Prince Carlton.

My life was a shadow of my brother's whims and desires. If he wanted to learn boxing then I was his sparring partner. If he needed a partner for fencing then I was taught and delegated as a training tool. I hated boxing and I hated fencing even more.

"Prince, you must drive the tip of the sword into your opponent's heart like this," the instructor lunged at my small body and forced me to the padded ground. "Now you try."

"En guard," my brother declared as he stood several inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than me.

"En guard," I replied fearlessly. My false assault was side stepped by my brother and my advantage of surprise was quickly lost as he executed a corps-a-corps forcing me to fall to the ground. My face reddened as I realized how ineffective my efforts had been.

"Come on Spare," my brother taunted. "You can do better than this."

"You're bigger and cheat," I accused as I rose.

"No you're just useless. You're nothing more than fodder for a goat, so make yourself useful. En Guard!" He advanced circling his sword around mine. The clink reminded me that I did not have a choice.

I defended myself and lost every match from the time I was nine. I was useless as a sparring partner because each time his foil made contact with my pastron or jacket, my brother counted his points loudly and without fail, no matter whether the hit was on target or illegal, the reply to the count by the instructor was encouraging and enthusiastic.

"The hit was illegal," I complained.

"Young Prince Clarkson, it is best if you redirect your energies and focus on defense rather than wildly and ineffectively attacking His Royal Highness Prince Carlton, who is an exceptional dueler, who has never lost a match. Whereas you have never won one," the instructor's nasal voice was dismissive of my accusations.

His words bit into what little confidence I possessed and reminded me that I would never be good enough, strong enough or smart enough to surpass my brother. He was the future king. I was nothing.

"En gaude," Carlton shouted, tired of the delay.

I wanted to win, I wanted acknowledgement of my value. The conversation of the swords clinked loudly. I would be valued. It would be three years before I scored a single point against my brother. A point earned by years of secret practice and calculated to humiliate my brother at the right moment.

We stood on the fencing pad, attired in our traditional fencing gear, our height and weight nearly identical. In fact no one could tell us apart with our masks over our faces, so I had a red stripe down the side of my jacket sleeve and Carlton had blue.

The match started fairly enough, my brother scored the first three points in two minutes. His voice quietly taunted me through his mask, "That's three, Spare. I should end this now, but I doubt the guest will be happy with such a short match.

My anger rose. I knew it would be detrimental to beat my brother in front of the foreign delegation of France.

King Porter reminded my brother hours earlier, "Son, it's imperative that you show your strength today. Your future as a leader depends on you showing no mercy or weakness." He turned to me, "And you, Spare, you must show your allegiance to your brother and subject yourself to his leadership. It's your duty and purpose. Do not fail," he bellowed.

My father and brother continued their conversation as if my presence was nothing of note. They talked of the benefits of a relationship with the French and the fencing was to be a positive introduction of the prince who would be the future king of Illea.

"If all else fails, we'll marry off the spare," my father reasoned. "It will solidify my relations, place someone I can trust over there and make a major step toward conquering the French."

"Of course," Carlton answered. "I won't beat the spare too much, I don't want his future wife to see him as weak and not want him."

"Good. I knew keeping the spare would come in handy." My father looked at me with a cold stare which indicated that I was to follow his directions or my usefulness could place me outside of the family.

It was too easy for my father to make someone disappear without impunity. He was the law and no one could challenge him. His plans for domination depended upon me, and yet, he did not love me. It made me mad. I didn't want to be used any longer. I wanted to be released from my family obligations. I needed a plan.

Author's Note:

Your comments help me flesh out the story, although I've outlined 23 chapters, I'm barely through the first chapter in my outline. Stick with me, I'm laying foundations and background so we can get to the romance. Thanks Air29 for my first comment ever! I hope you enjoy this chapter of From StPtK.


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